House Of Shadows. Jen Christie

he said, “Oh. Take a good look at me, Penrose. It’ll be no shock to you that upstanding women don’t seek out my company.”

      There was some truth in his words. She was ashamed to admit it, but before today, she might have felt the same. She looked at him with fresh eyes—the uncertainty over his coloring and features was welling up once more. She still feared him. But there was no denying his strong features and wide shoulders. Or that intense, driven gaze. There was something else, too. Something she couldn’t quite name. Even now, she wanted to reach out and touch him. But her fear of him held her back.

      But all she could do was say quietly, “Just because you were raised like that doesn’t mean he has to be. I wager that you are his father. He favors you in more than coloring and looks. He favors you in attitude, and that is not exactly a compliment. Now he’ll walk in your footsteps for sure and learn to squirrel himself away from the world.” She didn’t mean for her last words to sound sharp, but they did, and there was no taking it back. Trying to make it better, she said, “You’re merely pale. It’s no reason to hide.”

      “No,” he said in a steely voice. His gaze swept over her face before announcing, “You are ‘merely pale.’ I am colorless.” His face contorted in anger. “You would have me teach him the world is a kind place for people like us? You want me to send him out there?” He jabbed his finger in the direction of Charleston and ground out the next words. “I’ve been out there. And even if he weren’t my son, I wouldn’t torture the child like that.” He shook his head, turned around and kept moving down the stairs. Over his shoulder, he said, “You can’t understand what it’s like to not fit in. To stick out in a painful manner. We do okay by ourselves.” His sigh echoed in the stairwell. “Now, are you planning on working or not?”